Thursday, December 28, 1995

December 28, 1995

The physique has deteriorated, bears the emblem of the ruler, who demands great exertions. Paupers, vagrants, criminals, prostitutes. The two-fold nature (anvil and iron) may be traced to various phenomena (his motor roars into action) which rise and fall, and by rising and falling (leave purely symbolic representation out of consideration here) keeps to the rythmn, the law of averages. Young ones, the weak, with sudden enthusiasm, with a contagious desire in bars and cafes, go one day to buy something in the electrical warehouse, yarn for example, or boots or stones, resting quietly side by side. Schools, herds, populations, animals are bound up with the sum and value of differences, something in the brain that shouldn’t be there. And under cover of darkness the coal burnt under the boiler vanishes without a trace into the corpses of machines, tools and warehouses. A great revolution, the whole world produces nothing. Harsh wine, hard bread and jagged knives. The demon as the power of contagion and alliance, the chain of indescribable pleasure in possession, superfluous, redundant, caught together, furniture for support, full of obscene pictures, conscience like a crime.

The single person, which is the transformed shape, begets the others, all those lines or dimensions, the bakers, the locksmiths, the watchmakers, the sailors, the miners, the vagrants, the assailants. The women. Subjects, accidental forms, in total darkness, supressed, or nearly supressed, dishevelled and haggard, blackened faces in a kind of alliance of love, of things imperceptible. In the wrong but not entirely. Men in the catacombs, expressing their regret, take up position on the wolves’ borderline, bury their bayonets in the earth. Once more the things they are afraid of losing. The vapours of the cellar flicker. The properly musical becomes a swarm of bees. All of a sudden the strains of the Marseillaise.